The Old World

The morning birds have stopped,

The breeze has stopped,

The rush you used to feel in the morning has stopped,

Everything has stopped.

You go outside in hope of feeling the sense you once knew of recollection,

However there is nothing but sorrow and woe,

You take a walk in the park expecting to see something of awe,

But there is nothing,

To be seen in sight,

Types of mammals hidden under the ground,

You stop and wonder,

“How many are there now...?”

The air is cold,

The ground is cold,

The town is cold,

But there is no snow

“Why is there no snow...?”

The coldness is not the cold you’d think,

I’m so sorry world,

So sorry for everything.